But even if Kirk looked like Dr Perfect that didn’t rule him out on murder charges; if they could narrow down where he’d been at the times of deaths they would ship him to High Street and take it from there. As Carmen stared at their interviewee, Kirk twiddled nervously at his wedding ring, sliding it up and down his finger like it was used to coming off.
“How long have you been married, Dr Kirk?”
The doctor blinked in the brightly lit office and shook his head, not because he didn’t know the answer but because the question puzzled him.
“Twenty-three years in January.”
“Children?”
The conversational tone of the questions created a relaxed mood where it seemed perfectly normal for Kirk to discuss his kids.
“Two boys. Twenty and sixteen.”
Carmen nodded. “University and school I suppose?”
“Yes.” The physician leaned forward, emboldened by the coffee-shop chat that the interview had become. “Look, can I ask you what this is about? I’ve already told you that I was on the unit on the dates you mentioned and I’ve given you the name of the patient I was called to see. Mrs Bains will confirm that I was with her, so I couldn’t have committed or seen who committed the murders.”
He sat back decisively, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. Ken noticed how starched and pristine his white coat was, and the fact that he was wearing one at all; every other doctor he’d seen in the hospital seemed to prefer a handbag or their stethoscope draped round their necks. It looked untidy; he preferred the coat.
Carmen wasn’t looking at Brian Kirk’s white coat; she was too busy staring at his face. After she’d done it for long enough to disconcert him her voice changed from chatty to challenging and she said what she’d come to say.
“You’re a liar, Dr Kirk.”
Kirk railed at her words then leaned forward so fast that Ken wondered if he’d have to intervene. A warning glance was enough to make Kirk sit back again. His indignant words would have to suffice.
“How dare you!”
Carmen was undeterred. Her voice hardened and her soft Edinburgh lilt took on an edge. She tapped meaningfully on the notepad in front of her. “I dare because, while Sister Norton confirms that you saw Mrs Bains both days, she also gave me the exact times you were with her.”
She reached for the pad, turning the pages slowly in a deliberate attempt to ratchet Kirk’s tension up.
“On the morning of the ninth of October you were with Mrs Bains from ten to eleven o’clock, yet the CCTV doesn’t show you back in the main hospital corridor until eleven-forty. On the evening of Dr Cooke’s death we have a similar story. That leaves approximately forty minutes unaccounted for on each occasion.” She set down her notebook and folded her hands, echoing Kirk’s earlier pose. “Would you like to tell me where you were during those times?”
Ken watched as the consultant searched for a plausible alibi; he arrived at the clinician’s failsafe. “In the ward office.”
Carmen shook her head. “No you weren’t. We have footage of people entering and leaving both wards and the unit. You appear on the tapes heading for Reilly Suite on both occasions but never entering. Now, would you like to tell the truth?”
Kirk opened his mouth to lie again and Carmen shook her head. “I should tell you, Dr Kirk that we know all about your affair with Sister Gormley. Now, carry on lying by all means but all it will get you is a visit to a cell.”
Brian Kirk shook his head, but not angrily, rather he shook it like a man who’d given up. What he was giving up on was anyone’s guess. His lies? His affair? His marriage? Whichever it was, in the next ten minutes he answered their questions and outlined his relationship with Hazel Gormley, recounting exactly what they’d been doing while people were being killed.
***
The C.C.U. 7 p.m.
“Did you believe Kirk?”
Carmen nodded at the small briefing group. “Yes. It’s almost impossible to turn that shade of purple from embarrassment if you’re faking it. He said they usually meet in the clinical room.”
Liam laughed. “There’s CCTV in there. If they’re not careful the tape will end up on the Net.”
Craig shook his head at how careless they’d been.
“Does Kirk wear a wedding ring?”
“Yes, though it looks like it comes off pretty easily.”
“Our killer wore no rings and it’s unlikely Kirk would have taken the time to remove his if he’d killed Cooke in a hurry.” Craig paused before asking something else. “Is it serious between them?”
It was an inappropriate question and he knew it, but he was tired of watching his suspects disappear one by one. He didn’t believe Ferdy Myers was a solid contender and now Brian Kirk’s peccadillo was going to rule him out; he was going to allow himself the details.
Carmen shrugged. “Kirk said so and so did Gormley when we asked. Whether it is or not, it’s unlikely that Kirk’s good for the deaths.”
Craig nodded. “OK, double check the times and Davy will watch the clinical room CCTV.” He stared at Liam. “Only Davy. Tell Kirk and Gormley not to leave Belfast as we may want to question them again.” He dragged his hand down his face, fatigued. “OK, that leaves us with Ferdy Myers in custody but denying it.”
“Well, as Mandy Rice-Davies said ‘he would, wouldn’t he’.”
“True. There are no guilty men in prison. What does your gut say, Liam?”
Liam made a face. “It says I’m not sure. Myers is perfect in a lot of ways but you should have seen the carry-on when I held him. Fair gave me a headache.”
“Headaches aren’t a defence in court but if Myers’ solicitor pleads diminished capacity, your interview might be thrown out.”
Craig was silent for a moment and Nicky seized the gap to pour fresh coffees and hand them round. He thought for another minute before he spoke, attempting a neutral tone; he didn’t want to bias opinions by revealing his preferred killer.
“OK. Let’s park Myers and Kirk for a moment, who does that leave us with? Caleb Pitt, an eighty-four-year-old amputee who spends most of his time in a wheelchair. Comments anyone?”
Nicky watched as Carmen glanced at Ken in a way that said something had happened between them. She made up her mind to call Annette for a gossip certain that none of the men would have noticed a thing. She was wrong. Craig had spotted the warmth between them the moment they’d entered but he wasn’t saying a word in case he jinxed it. Anything that improved Carmen’s mood worked for him.
Liam had heard Craig’s deliberate neutrality and he knew what it meant. He ventured a quip anyway. “Maybe Pitt beat them to the ground with his Zimmer and then strangled them.”
Jake had been quiet since they’d started but now he spoke. “He doesn’t use a Zimmer.”
His words had an edge to them and Craig knew accusing an elderly man of murder when his grandfather was sick was hard for him, but not considering Caleb Pitt as a suspect was an omission that he couldn’t allow.
“OK, let’s look at what we know about Pitt. Davy?”
Davy remained in his semi-recumbent position, not from insolence but exhaustion; none of them had had any rest for a week. He tapped on his smart-pad and read.
“Caleb Pitt. Aged eighty-four last month. Born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1930, lived in New York for a time then came to live in the UK in 1986. He w…was in the US military until 1977, reached the rank of Major General when he was thirty-five. Married Edna Crowe in 1950 and they had two s…sons: Nathan and Joshua. Both in the military and both deceased.”
Liam interrupted. “That’s rough.”
Davy nodded. “One died in 1974 and the other in 1980.”
It was Craig’s turn to interrupt. “Where?”
Davy scoured his screen and then shook his head. “Doesn’t say. Do you need me to find out?”
Craig nodded. The unease he’d felt for days was growing.
“Will do. Edna Pitt died in 1982 and Caleb got a jo
b with an oil company than brought him to the UK in ’86. He lived outside London until he retired in 1995, then he relocated, first to two different parts of S…Scotland and then here in 2005.”
Carmen cut in. “Why keep moving?”
It was a good question. Why would a retiree move three times in ten years? Davy shrugged and added it to his list of things to check.
“He’d been living in Newtownards since 2005. There was a w…woman around till two years ago; Mary Hart.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died. Natural causes. Pitt’s outlived a lot of people.”
Craig nodded. Caleb Pitt had lost a lot of loved ones. He wondered if it made life seem cheap.
“Pitt’s had health problems in the past nine years, mostly his chest. He’s a heavy s…smoker and it’s left him with emphysema; that’s a lung disease.”
Liam interjected. “Are the cigs why he lost his leg, or was that combat?”
“Neither. He got diabetes in his s…seventies and lost the leg from that.”
Craig nodded. The same thing had happened to an uncle of his in Rome. “OK. So when did Pitt move into Reilly?”
“2012. He was one of the first residents recruited by Prof Taylor.”
“Any reports of what he’s like there?”
“Fine, apparently. Helps new residents s…settle in, goes to get things for people from the shop. Even drives them into town if necessary; he has an adapted car. Never a cross w…word.”
“And his hands fit for strength?”
“Yes.”
Craig thought of something and turned to Carmen. “Did Dr Kirk have any scent of mint about him, Carmen?”
She shook her head. “None. No aftershave and he doesn’t smoke. I suppose he might chew gum occasionally but he doesn’t seem the type for that. Sorry. By the way, Annette called and said they don’t use any cleaning fluids with a mint or menthol scent on the wards, sir.”
It was the first ‘sir’ and ‘sorry’ they’d heard for months and Liam opened his mouth to say as much. Craig shut it with a glance; whatever was making Carmen pleasant he could do without Liam hexing it. She hadn’t finished.
“Annette wasn’t happy when she heard Ferdy Myers had been held. She said he had PTSD and a cell wasn’t the best environment for him.”
“I’m inclined to agree but we can’t release him till we’re sure.” He turned to Davy. “Davy, tell Jack to keep Myers on close watch and get the FME to make regular checks.”
Liam objected noisily. “He’s not that fragile! You should have seen his face when he talked about Rudd and Cooke.”
Craig ignored him and carried on. “OK, we need to look at Pitt very hard. Why has he moved around so much in retirement, what happened when he was in the military, where was he exactly at the time of the crimes?”
Jake opened his mouth to object but Craig shook his head.
“Before anyone says it, I know we already have a suspect in custody and I know an eighty-year-old killer seems far-fetched, but something tells me we haven’t cracked this case yet.” He turned to Liam. “Liam, dig into Pitt’s background with Jake. Carmen, you and I are going to chat to Mr Pitt on the ward. Davy, is there any match on that print on Cooke’s watch strap?”
Davy grimaced. “S…Sorry, chief. Nothing on the usual databases. Myers has been printed and we’re waiting for a match, but Kirk and Pitt both refused. We might need w…warrants there. I’ll run it against military databases, given that all three men were in the forces, although I doubt the Yanks will open theirs to us. Pitt’s an American citizen so he has rights.”
“He doesn’t have a UK passport?”
Before Davy could answer Liam asked Ken a question. “How the hell is he affording his medical care?”
“He must have money tucked away.” Ken made a face. “Military pensions in the US must be a damn sight better than ours.”
Davy interjected. “Pitt has dual citizenship so the NHS is free.”
Craig steered the discussion away from economics. “Maybe the Americans will let you send them the print to check it themselves.”
Davy shrugged. “I’ll try.”
“OK. If you can’t I’ll get the Chief Constable onto it. Ken, I want you to act as military liaison for us. Go to the American Embassy and see if you can speak to someone connected to their military. Pitt isn’t going anywhere at the moment so we have a little time. Carmen and I will keep an eye on him. OK, that’s it for now. Everyone knows what they have to do. Get ready for a late night. We may need to brief again.”
As the group dispersed Craig leaned over to Davy.
“I need you to run a new search.”
Davy stared at him, wondering what more there was to search for.
“On?”
“Deaths of drug-dealers in the UK and America, and can you also check on something else…”
Chapter Fourteen
The Chief Constable’s office. 8 p.m.
“I know it’s unusual, sir, but...”
“It’s necessary for the case.”
Craig nodded. “If we can’t trace this print then we can’t tie anyone definitively to the murder and any halfway decent barrister will get it chucked out of court.”
Sean Flanagan rolled his eyes at the thought of fighting through yards of American red tape. UK departmental officials were tough enough without dealing with the Yanks. He wondered if civil servants everywhere took a course on ‘how to obstruct’; it certainly seemed to be their usual M.O.
He sipped at his cooling coffee and made a face and then yelled for his P.A. “Donna, fresh coffee for two.”
Craig grinned, wondering what Nicky’s response would be if he tried that on her – probably a pot tipped over his head. Donna ambled in, seemingly unperturbed by her boss’ less than polite summons. She lifted the cold pot and reappeared two minutes later with a hot one. The exaggerated slowness with which she set it in front of Flanagan and her long-suffering smile at Craig told him that Flanagan would get the lecture once he’d gone. Summoning her like a housemaid might impress the troops but there’d be a price to pay.
They turned back to the case.
“You’re convinced we need to check US military fingerprints?”
Craig nodded.
“Care to run me through why?”
It was said without expectation.
“I’d prefer not to at the moment, sir.”
Flanagan shrugged and dialled a number. Craig could hear Donna answering on the other side of the wall.
“Get me the American Ambassador will you?”
“I might.”
“What will it take?”
“Chocolates.”
“OK. Now put through the call.”
Two minutes later Flanagan’s phone rang.
“John. How are you? And how’s Diane? Good, good. We must have dinner soon.”
Craig heard Ambassador John Richie’s voice clearly then Flanagan made his request.
“So, we need to send a print through, to be run against your military database.”
The quiet murmuring on the other end rose to a higher pitch. Flanagan’s pitch matched.
“Necessary? Of course it’s necessary, man. It’s a murder case! Two murders in fact. We’ve a print and the evidence is pointing towards a possible military link. Don’t worry, we’re asking the British Army to check their records as well.” Flanagan listened for a moment and then rolled his eyes. “Yes, OK… And if you find a match we’ll meet face-to-face before you give us a name.”
The two men chatted on for a moment then Flanagan signed off and turned to Craig.
“Send me the print. But you’d better hope it matches someone because I’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice. I agreed to play golf and John Richie’s the worst player I’ve ever seen.”
***
“Des, get the print from Cooke’s watch over to the Chief Constable, please.”
Des stared at the phone and made a face. He had no choice but to co
mply but he didn’t like copies of his evidence going walkies around the force. He’d have been even less pleased if Craig had told him it was going all the way to America. Craig clicked the phone off then dialled again and got Ken. Smith was trudging back to his car, metaphorically bruised and bloodied after his encounter with the US military liaison. Craig heard the defeat in his ‘hello’ and made his first word an apology.
“Sorry.”
Ken squinted at the phone, wondering what he deserved an apology for but magnanimous in his acceptance just the same.
“No problem, sir. What are you sorry for?”
“Sending you to deal with the US officials. Was it hopeless?”
Ken grimaced, remembering how many times the tanned officer had ‘yes and no sirred’ him. You could lose years wading through those salutes.
“Pretty much.”
“Leave it and get on to Craigantlet army base. You might get more joy from the M.O.D.”
“Are we forgetting about the Yanks then?”
Craig shook his head as he answered. “The C.C. has got the US Ambassador onto it. So just check the UK databases and bring me whatever you get.”
One of the military databases would ping with their print eventually and Craig knew which one his money was on.
***
Craig dumped his Audi in the car park at the back of Reilly and rang the bell. It was answered by Hazel Gormley. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something about her affair but he decided to let it go. She looked embarrassed enough without him rubbing it in.
“Hello, Sister. Is D.C. McGregor here yet?”
Gormley nodded and led the way to her small office. They passed elderly people playing chess, watching TV and chatting in small groups on the way; they looked happy, happier perhaps than some would have been sitting alone at home. Craig pictured himself there in forty years’ time but it didn’t scan; if he was still alive then he’d be on a balcony in Italy drinking wine.
The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 27